


The Teacher and the Pupil

by baranduin



Category: Alexander Trilogy - Renault
Genre: M/M, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-16
Updated: 2010-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love lessons. Pure sugar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Teacher and the Pupil

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Laura Mason (lorie945) for an excellent beta!

Bagoas thought he taught me everything about lovemaking. Oh, not the basics, just all the subtleties and delicate refinements he felt that I, in my uncivilized Macedonian backwardness, lacked. I'm not too proud to admit that there was some truth in it, though I do believe he also found I learned very quickly and was an apt pupil under his instruction. I always was a good student. It was an inheritance and I was proud of it, whether its source was divine or not.

It's not that Bagoas said anything to me about my simple ways, at least not in so many words. Certainly he was too diplomatic and sensitive for that. Also, he was frightened of me at the beginning, which was only natural considering his circumstances, though I don't like to admit it and I did my best to put him at his ease. But he didn't have to say anything aloud, for I could read his mind. He was an open book to me, even in the earliest days when he was so shocked at my behavior and that of my men. Once we grew close and I took him into my bed and my heart, it was even easier to read him; after all, I kept him as close to me as the book beneath my pillow.

Not that I told him I knew what he was up to. It was far too pleasant to be instructed by him, rather like learning to savor Bactrian wine, though it was far more difficult to discipline myself to moderation once I'd tasted him for the first time.

But there was one thing Bagoas was not graceful at doing in the beginning, and our places changed so that I was teacher and he my willing pupil.

I taught him how to kiss. I taught him well.

Not that I really noticed it that first night, for everything was so new and my desire was so sharp after having watched him for weeks. I had tried to push away my hunger for him, telling myself that it would be wrong to seduce someone completely in my power. Even after I could tell he wanted me, too, and he started doing little things to offer himself to me discreetly, I held back. It took all my willpower to last as long as I did against his gentle siege, for he expressed his desire so subtly with the barest touch or a sliding look. In the end I knew it was the right thing to do, for I could tell his heart was pure and that our bond of love would be blessed.

So I did not notice this gap in his skills the first night, or even the second or the third. But soon, oh very soon, it occurred to me that there was something a little off about the way he returned my kisses. He never turned away from me (and he never has), and I knew I was pleasing him in other ways, but there was this ... reticence about deep kisses. A stiffness and lack of surety that did not match his joyful responses in all other ways.

I needed to understand if I was doing something wrong, so one night I pulled back after another kiss that had been not quite right. His mouth had been open to me but still ...

I asked, "Do you not like to kiss me?" and knew from the horrified expression on his face that it had been the wrong thing to say, that is, if I wanted to remedy the situation. Have you ever seen a gazelle's eyes widen in fear when a lit torch reveals it all of a sudden?

"I am sorry, my lord. Of course I do," he said, his mouth tense, even tenser than it had been beneath my own mouth.

"Never mind," I whispered and rubbed my thumb against his bottom lip, as softly and gently as I could until the look in his eyes softened and he caught the tip between his teeth. "That's better." I lowered my head and we kissed, his thumb between us, working now in my mouth. "Did Darius not want your kisses?"

"No, my lord. I was taught how, but then they were not wanted and I grew accustomed to that."

"But I need them, so you must let me be your teacher now." Though the words we spoke were few, still in that time I stole several quick, glancing kisses from him. It pleased me to see the corners of his mouth curve up.

I had not taken the time before to soothe him with my mouth, with long slow kisses that warm not just the body but the soul. But I did that night—and all the others that followed.

We lay together for a long time while I instructed him, my thighs between his and his legs wrapped around my waist, our cocks pressed against each other and slowly swelling until the rhythm of our hips matched that of our joined mouths. It seemed that my bluntness in questioning him had not been so harmful after all, for soon his mouth was as avid and sweet to me as the rest of his body had been from the first night. It is not a boast to say that after only a few minutes his eyes glazed with desire and I am sure he would not have let me stop even had I wanted to.

But I did not want to stop, not once I realized what needed to be done, and especially not when there were so many ways I needed to take his mouth. Rubbing my lips slowly against his, barely moving and touching only with the slightest graze of flesh to flesh, made his breathing hitch and his hands clench against my back. When I licked his mouth and the soft skin inside, he arched up against me, his heels digging into my arse. But when I thrust my tongue deep inside his mouth, he groaned out loud and went limp with pleasure in my arms, and I could not bear it any long and entered him with a stroke as deep and sure as my tongue had made.

I had never before taken him all within one long kiss that did not end, but I did that night. When we regained our senses, I raised up on my elbows and looked down at him. His hair was damp and his eyes closed, but his mouth was open and his lips swollen and purpled from our lesson.

When I pushed a strand of hair from his forehead, he opened his eyes and smiled at me. "Did I teach you well, my dear?" I asked.

He wrapped his arms around my neck and pulled me down, his mouth eager and his breath warm as he whispered against my ear, "You must test me to find out. I think it likely I need more tutoring."

"Very well," I said. It was a good thing that I liked teaching as much as I enjoyed learning, though the next morning seemed to come much too quickly. As did the one after that and after that and ...


End file.
